Andraste's Sermon
by Eureka234
Summary: It is beginning of the Steel Age and Divine Theodosia I's rule. The Right Hand of the Divine agrees to accompany her to Tevinter to try and get on the good side of the Black Divine. Written from a Valentine's day idea suggested by the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writer's Group.


_Authors Notes:_ This was a story idea suggested in the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writer's group of hooking up two different Divine's for Valentine's day. I'm not sure how Valentine's day appropriate it is, though! I literally spent all day on it. I think it might have to be longer, but for the moment it is this. NSFW in parts, but please enjoy!

* * *

The Right Hand of the Divine was always cautious of the Tevinter Imperium. She stepped foot in its gracious empire once, and that was enough. It was a sordid act of degradation, like a corpse she had to pick maggots from. She learned from the whispers around the Chantry to know it was dangerous to tread north of her homeland. Never should one defy a Magister without ample protection and cunning wit. That, she had learned from more than just ink. Not only was the social divide a structure she had thrived to distance herself from, but it was the Black Divine Himself that made her stomach clench in knots of discomfort.

Marija was introduced to the Magister on First Day, a few years into of Divine Theodosia I's rule. It was in preparation of a grand holiday where the integral value of community was emphasized to the highest degree. Most Divine's focused on their local community and held a special service in the Chantry. There was word that Justinia II travelled to allies who had proven themselves in a recent battle, but the event was met with a challenge this year. Weeks before, the Divine requested with devout certainty that they ought to form close connections with the ones they most feared.

"I suggest we visit the Tevinter Imperium and learn of how they celebrate this day." She said.

The Divine was not as old as many previous. She was elected at 33 years; however, the stress of responsibility had taken a toll on her features.

"With utmost respect, your reasoning is just," Marija agreed, "however, I shudder to think of how the Black Divine may manipulate us if we even dare give him a chance."

The two met eyes, and they were both thinking the same. Tevinter was like stepping into mayhem and chaos, another world where the rules were written backwards in an unfamiliar language. Even if the Imperial Chantry was kind, misinterpretations and misunderstandings were likely, and that could cause a whole other conflict in Thedas. It was already overrun with Qunari invasion. It seemed foolish to travel at such a vulnerable time.

"As my Right Hand, I trust entirely in your judgement," she said, the wrinkles around her eyes folding from a smile, "When we arrive, you may advise me on your observations and suggestions, and do it perfectly, as always."

"What of the Left Hand, your Most Holy?" the woman asked. The Divine's other chosen companion was a sly fighter, which made him particularly powerful in political upheaval.

"He will stay and make do with the celebrations while we are gone," the Divine said. "I think your collected approach to matters will put Tevinter at ease."

The Right Hand had to fan herself with her hand to stop her face from overheating, "You flatter me, Your Reverence."

"No, it is not flattery," the Divine shot back, her Nevarran accent audible in a moment of connection, "For it is well deserved."

Marija hesitated. She was always there to provide her opinion, and it was accepted with respect and value. The Divine was a clever woman. On the rare moment she did not know what she was doing; the Right Hand could step in and rectify the situation. They were a powerful team. Truly, the Divine's success was not an achievement entirely of her own. The woman agrees to the idea for First Day.

* * *

Marija does not remember the passage between the Grand Cathedral to the Tevinter Imperium. As per their rank, they travelled by chariot branlant, and the Right Hand was humbly grateful to not peer out at the scenery unless she wished. Being situated in Orlais meant that in order to reach the Imperium they had to cross Nevarra. The woman did not want to console herself with homesickness, for it was severe enough at thought alone. The region was rich with beauty, although the losses also twisted her devotion and love for the budding cities.

"I suspect the Black Divine knows we are coming?" she said carefully, hoping not to suggest insult to her superior.

The Divine waved a hand, "I am left wondering, Madame Linard. There was no reply to my letter. I suspect he is busy."

Marija hesitated and hissed in an undertone, "Do you _wish_ to be seen as rude?"

"We will enter politely, of course," her superior said, "I think the offerings will be sufficient."

Marija wanted to accuse the Divine of being too trusting, but decided against it, "We will find out."

She wishes she could speak to the Divine as the friend she remembers, but even in a carriage there was risk of being overheard. It may be just a kind man guiding a horse, the Right Hand wanted to pose no slither of threat or vulnerability to the Most Holy. It was something she was used to, but not an experience to revel in. It is a pleasant welcome then, when the Divine smiles at her and nods, as though seeing her despair. Marija hopes the vastness of her sorrow can be conveyed in a simple look.

The two read passages of text to one another and discuss its themes with great passion. It is like old times. It makes Marija's spirit burst into joyous song. The Right Hand chooses her words carefully and emphasizes stories where great pain had befallen the hero.

When their talk dissipates, the Divine gives a friendly pat on Marija's thigh. It is not kindly enough to invoke a flood of tears, but neither so cold that the dark haired woman ignores it. It is nothing more than a physical acknowledgement of her, but whether it was as a friend of her Right Hand was difficult to establish. Marija returns to her book, but in her heart she finds the words she dearly wished she could say.

 _I hope you recognize what I have sacrificed to be here._

The Divine had her covered head pointed down in the page of a book, and did not bat an eyelid as the thought reached the Right Hand's consciousness.

* * *

When Marija exited the carriage onto the cobblestone pavement of Minrathous, she near sprains her ankle from how uneven the stone is. Putting her foot down on another stretch of rock, she noticed that the stone streets had cracks all through them, but they were carefully placed to give the illusion that no fight had crossed here.

"I wonder if the slaves were asked to present the streets immaculately," the Right Hand noted thoughtfully, bowing to allow the Divine to exit, "place your footing here, Most Holy, the stone has been destroyed and layered back down like a puzzle."

The Divine sighed heavily, as though she wasn't surprised they were having problems already. "That is _one_ way to cripple enemies."

Even if the Most Holy was capable of walking on her own, the Right Hand held out a hand as a sign of respect rather than help that was to be accepted.

The man who had been riding the carriage gave a coy smile, but was busy stretching out his legs near the brilliant white stallion, "Shall I stay here, Your Reverence?"

The Divine smiled, "It is unsafe here, LeClair. I would advise keeping watchful, but we will endeavour to feed you upon our return."

The man didn't complain, but merely removed his hat and bowed, "Thank you."

The Right Hand caught eyes with him and gestured toward the carriage. "If you enjoy fiction, there is a novel of _Quatre fils Aymon_ in the back, sir."

There was no time to loiter, but the brunet appeared so dreading he would read anything, even if it was a tale of some awful King being decapitated in excruciating detail. They had to leave now. Hopefully a Qunari won't chop the gentleman with an axe when they returned.

The Divine passed the Right hand the basket of gifts, covered in a large decorated towel, and followed.

"I must insist I walk in front, Divine Theodosia." Marija said, proceeding to stamp on the ground with her metal heel as she walked, testing how balanced each piece was before she dared proceed. It made the travels take far longer than it should, probably four times delayed. It was chilly here, but not nearly as bad as she'd expected.

As the Right Hand waited for her superior to follow, she peered over at the surrounding buildings. They were nothing like she had seen before. The architecture was ancient and solid, something more than just preserving history out of respect, but like history itself was still a living breathing entity of the region. It was chilling that the pieces that were destroyed looked like they'd remained that way for ages past, making new wreckage near impossible to decipher. It appeared that mansions only became wider or taller, but repairs were out of the question. For some, it was surprising they had not crumbled to nothing. It was important that the proof of its endurance remained visible for all to see. What kind of message was this to give to its residences?

The Imperial Chantry was much the same, although it seemed it had the luxury to replace tinted glass. It was obvious battle had erupted in front of it, by the scorch marks littered on its silver stone slabs.

"Divine Theodosia!" cried a man, approaching them. It was likely a Magister, for he had rich flowing robes and a mage staff in his hands. However, there was also a female Qunari beside him, an even more threatening mace in hers. "I heard that you had written to the True Divine."

"Is Divine Zuriel willing to make contact with us?" the Divine called up, still climbing the stairs to the Chantry.

The Magister's red hair was alarming in the grim city, "He was, but he is not well. He didn't finish drafting the letter, Your Holiness."

"I understand," the Divine said, "May we see him?"

The young Magister peered at the Qunari woman who simply nodded and walked through the doors.

"Please wait inside," he said, holding the door open. The Right Hand and the Divine both knew this was as much respect as they would receive here.

"Thank you, sir." Marija said.

When the heavy doors shut with an echo, the woman was met with one of the most magnificent Chantry's in Thedas. The Argent Spire was beautiful, but in the same way a frozen lake was. Nobody would want to be underneath its layer of beauty, only look at it from the snow on its ledge, but it was an experience all the same. Honestly, it was not too different from the Grand Cathedral, although the flooring was denser; the wood was of a darker sort and polished time and time again. There were not as many lights, and it was very quiet here. That was the part Marija didn't like.

The Qunari returned and looked down at the two of them, "The True Divine is prepared to speak."

Her voice was rich and echoed around the Chantry like a musical instrument, but Marija kept sturdy.

"Thank you," she said with a small bow.

The Magister from before, however, scoffed. "What are you doing? Do not bow to a slave! She bows to you!" she stormed over, pushing a hand through his hair.

The Divine and Marija did not bother to meet eyes.

"I apologize, sir. I was not aware Tevinter had accepted Qunari as slave's too." the Right Hand said with disdain.

"Delightful, isn't it? She is quite the prize," the red head said excited, but Marija didn't think it was something to be proud of, "The only one who has abandoned her Holy Text for our teachings. Isn't that right, pet?"

The Nevarran felt her insides tense at the notion of calling such a powerful creature a 'pet', one twice the size as the Magister. Qunari were feared by many, not controlled, even if it was just one.

The Qunari, reluctantly, bowed. Marija couldn't decide if the warrior was trying to play these Magisters or not.

"Please do not delay any longer and take us to Divine Zuriel, pet." Marija said calmly, her tone not reflecting malice.

There was silence then, an awkward one. They followed the Qunari obediently, not bothering to speak to the Magister who had welcomed them. What was his role in the Chantry? What was his relationship to the Black Divine?

They finally reached a room quite dislocated from the rest of the building, hidden behind a heavy portrait of whom Marija recognized as Divine Valhail, the first of the Black Divine.

"I will wait outside," the red head said, "do not speak so high to the His Holiness, he is sensitive to sound at the moment."

"Thank you." The Divine answered, concealing her Nevarran accent.

The red head allowed the door to open with a small shake of his wrist, as though trying to ward off an insect who kept landing on top of him. Even though the Black Divine was apparently in a vulnerable state, the Right Hand was nervous when she took steps forward, even if the Divine walked in first.

It was little compared to what she experienced inside.

The room was simple, almost barren. A black desk lay in the middle of the room, with exactly four candles at each corner. A pile of papers were on the desk, organized so precisely that it could have been the work of a war tactician. It had to be to prevent the room from going up in flames.

"Good afternoon, Divine Zuriel." The Divine announced, gesturing Marija to one side. "Thank you for agreeing to speak to me today. We heard you are not well."

The Magister, the Right Hand realized, was sitting in an armchair with his head rested limply back, as though he had been sleeping moments ago. It was so dimly lit she had not noticed. Now he looked up, he would not be remembered for his Maker given attractiveness, but his ability to enhance the few charming features. His heavy eyebrows were brushed and plucked to the detail expected from nobles in Orlais, with some gentle make up enhancing his hazel eyes. It was almost like he wanted to terrify all that looked at him. Well, for what it was worth, it was working on her.

"A Qunari got me to the head last week," Divine Zuriel said. He turned, tracing a line over the scar and bruising that went through his hair, "I still have to rest."

That was one way the Divine in Tevinter differed from theirs. The Divine would only go into combat for self defense. The woman's eyes squinted. It was unclear, but the man couldn't have been much older than her Divine. Perhaps he had not been Black Divine for long.

"We transported gifts for First Day," Divine Theodosia said, and Marija knew that was her cue. The woman stepped forward and gave a small bow as she held out the basket with both hands.

The Right Hand only heard Divine Zuriel say, "Can you put in it in my lap, please?"

"Of course, Your Holiness."

Slightly confused as to whether the man was lazy or resting, she did as she was told, averting her eyes to his crotch as she placed it down. She was surprised when the man brushed her long black hair with his fingers upon taking it from her grasp, an accident or a carefully placed indulgence.

"They were chosen by the Duke and Duchess of Orlais," she explained, "I hope they please you."

The woman retreated to where she was standing before, trying to ignore the primal intrigue she felt for the man.

"Yes, Minrathous becomes a madhouse at First Day. Casualties are not unheard of. Last year, we had a number of mages create fire displays. It becomes tiresome when there are too many." The Divine Zuriel let out a shuddering sigh and folded open the towel, quickly glancing over the various wines and delicacies, like Foie Gras and Choquettes. Marija was not sad to have the basket out of her hands.

"I worry that the celebrations will not be as festive as previous years," the man continued slowly, "but perhaps this will be a agreeable change, given it's usual ruckus."

There was no attention given to the Right Hand of the Divine then, but that was how it was supposed to be.

The White and Black Divine's spent two hours collaborating on ideas for First Day. Given the deaths and occupations of the Qunari forces, there will be attempts to place limits on the magic permitted. The red-head Magister eventually brought them some bread, where an exquisite nectarine, peach and orange blossom conserve was spread on it. The Right Hand took note of the man's facial expressions, tone of voice and mannerisms. From what she could gather, he was annoyed he had to organize First Day at all.

Her mistrust for the Black Divine solidified after a game of Ring Toss. The two had been permitted to use the rest rooms before departure, only the Divine entered first. The Right Hand stayed perfectly still as the Black Divine stepped to her side, being completely obvious.

"What is the story of how you became the Divine's Right Hand, culver?" he asked. His voice had a slight husk, like he'd worn it out recently.

Marija peered at the Black Divine's eyes briefly before lingering on his stubble, not wanting to show disrespect. "It is a story too dull for your ears, Divine Zuriel."

"It will not put me to sleep," he assured her, a note of charity in his tone, "I am certain."

The woman felt chills bore down through her clothes, chainmail and onto her skin as the man gently ran his fingers down her hair. She usually kept it in a ponytail, where even then it would reach her hips. On occasions such as these, she kept it out where her black waves trailed close to the ground. It was a sight to behold, usually distracting, but she liked how just threading gold chain through it gave the false impression of class. It also could double as a weapon if the right devices were attached.

"If it not a bore, it is too long," she advised him, wondering how he would react if the Divine returned at that moment. The Black Divine, it seemed, didn't care. He touched a finger to her chin and pushed up her face so she met his eyes.

That moment of connection was truly awful, not because the man was a brute, but for the feelings that scorched her insides without hesitation. He was exotic more than handsome. His hair was dark and carefully combed as any noble, but she did not care for nobles. There was no reason for her to feel anything at all, and yet her body defied her. As the seconds passed locked eye to eye, the woman was distracted by a feeling of lightness, and deep pleasure underneath her stockings.

"Opal." He said.

"I beg your pardon?" Marija shot back.

"Your eyes," he pointed out, a small smile curving his lip, "I couldn't see them earlier."

The man traced his thumb down her neck, like tracing where an assassin might cut it, ever so slowly. The Right Hand was now free, but she did not lower her head.

"Would the Divine and the Right Hand like my hospitality?" he asked. "I'd like First Day to be as pleasant as possible."

The woman took a deliberate deep breath, as though worried she might collapse.

"With greatest respect, Most Holy, you are asking the wrong person."

"Well, I can ask you what _your_ opinion is, can't I?" the Magister tested.

The Right Hand didn't answer. Whatever her response was, it would give information to the Black Divine as to how the two operated. The Black Divine didn't have Right or Left Hands, there was just the Magisters. If she let slip any important detail, the whole of Tevinter might know, and that was incredibly dangerous.

She bowed, "I will let the Divine know."

The man smirked, but it was almost a charming sight. "What is the name beneath the Maker's title?"

"Madame Linard," the woman responded, not wanting to let her guard down too easily.

The Magister didn't seem to care, "I am told I have a talent at reading faces, Madame," he explained, moving slightly closer to her, "if I dared to guess, I suspect that you wanted to say 'yes' to my offer."

The Right Hand only looked at him blankly, not wanting to speak for herself and disregard her superior.

"If your eyes had said no, you would have scrunched up your face," the man remarked, "ever so gently, and I saw none of that, Madame Linard. Not even the slightest flinch."

The exchange did not proceed for a moment more, for the Divine returned and the Right Hand no longer wanted to venture to the rest room.

"The Divine Zuriel has offered us hospitality leading up to First Day," Marija explained immediately. The Divine peered to her, than the Magister carefully, calculating very quickly in her head. This seemed to be what the Divine had wanted, but somehow, Marija wasn't sure this was the exact means it was supposed to happen.

"Can you guarantee our safety, Divine Zuriel?" the Divine asked.

The Black Divine sighed, "It is safe here comparatively to the rest of Tevinter. It would be a pleasure to have you. I will ensure you are well protected."

The Right Hand let out a long exhale, an attempt to conceal her nerves. The leader of the Imperial Chantry was not a cruel person, but he seemed enthusiastic to gain personal details, possibly too early for comfort. That might come later, but not now. For the moment, it was troubling, frustrating, and even more so because her body was telling her the very opposite.

"I would like to share a room with my Right Hand," the Divine ordered, having noticed the suspicion in Marija's face, "We accept, but if our safety is compromised in any way, we will depart."

The Black Divine uttered words of thankfulness, but Marija didn't pay attention to them. She was too busy replaying in her mind how it felt when he touched her hair. It was a slight gesture, but one that was so prevailing that it was as though he'd ran a finger underneath her gown.

* * *

They met LeClair sitting on top his horse, reading a book.

"Do you like it?" the dark-haired woman asked.

The man held out the novel to the Right Hand, "It is…"

"You hate it?" Marija offered.

"Yes, my lady." LeClair said with a bow of his head.

"Come, LeClair," The Divine began, and she proceeded to explain the situation. Another Magister would show him to a stable. The brunet was very soft spoken and didn't seem confident expressing any opinion as he walked back up the stairs with them, even if he had an important job.

"Divine Zuriel was peering at you very interested," the Divine said, "Did he say anything?"

"He tried," the Right Hand said, relieved to finally say something, "I did not reveal anything."

"He wants information." her superior stated.

"Yes," the Right Hand agreed, "although we are not yet allies."

"No, that fool is getting ahead of himself." The Divine grumbled. "Do you suspect him of anything else?"

"No." she said with finality, "He feeds off knowledge like a Lion, and I am avoiding his teeth."

In retrospect, the Right Hand could have added that he seemed intrigued by her hair, but that seemed like such an insignificant detail. She did not realize she was already defending him.

* * *

They ate at a dining hall of the Chantry. It was an honor to be seated in such a place, even when surrounded by other powerful Magisters. She kept her mouth shut unless directly asked for input. The Divine announced that if First Day went without disarray that they could be considered allies. There was a tense wave around the table as she said this. It was a warning, not a kindness.

The three went to a Bath House together, apparently a custom for the rich in Tevinter. It resided in a separate manor, apparently it belonged to the Black Divine, but they were permitted to use it as part of the deal. Neither of them could figure out if this was a means of exerting power or a true generosity, although the bath was the only extraordinary detail of the place. Everything else appeared middle class, which made Marija wonder who the Black Divine truly was. The water was steaming and the room decorated with paintings and flowers, oddly intimate details.

LeClair cleared his throat loudly.

"What is it?" the Divine probed.

"Are you certain I should be bathing with the two of you?" the man asked, turning red.

"There is no trouble of washing ourselves in the same premise," the Divine said, "we will cover our bodies with these towels, see – and you will face the door, LeClair. It is important someone watches the door."

"I'd prefer to do that clothed, ma'am," the man responded.

"You will be." The Divine said, "My apologies, LeClair." She gave a snarky chuckle, "I thought that would be _obvious_."

"My apologies, Divine Theodosia."

Marija smiled at this, and so did the Divine. He was a very jumpy young man.

The women had very little concerns about their bodies, since they had bathed together before in Nevarra. Large bath houses were rare in Perendale, but it was something her mother had taken her to many times in her youth, but nothing as pristine as this. The woman carefully removed her many layers of clothing, feeling a strange comfort in knowing they were connected by their homeland in this way, even when they had come from different social classes.

Lowering herself into the water took a while, as the water was scorching. It was so hot it dyed her olive skin darker as the circulation rushed to the area. She kept her eyes on the back of LeClair's head. He was sitting up straight, perfectly focused, like in a religious ceremony.

When the water reached above her breasts she tucked her ankles under her bosom in order to obscure what was below with her knees. The length of her hair, granted, also helped with hiding her. The Divine removed her clothes, that obnoxious white hat, and wrapped herself firmly in a towel, which clung to her curves as she lowered herself into the water. There was no denying it; years had passed since they met, over a decade. Their skin had developed a certain quality from exposure to the sun and life's battles, her friend more so than her, but they still had this.

"You do not feel unsightly without a towel?" the woman asked. Her brown hair was cut unbelievably short, like a boy's – probably to manage the heat in robes – but her eyes still held the same warmth.

"I would feel unsightly with one," she realized, surprising even herself.

"How are you, LeClair?" the Divine wondered, still holding authority in her voice.

The Orleasian cleared his throat, which in LeClair's language meant that he wanted to speak, but didn't know how to say it.

The women laughed, sensing his embarrassment by the pinkness of his ears.

"Tell us if there are any problems."

LeClair nodded, and there was nothing but the faint splashing of water for a time.

"Do you think a Qunari would fancy barging in a manor for their bath?" the Divine wondered.

"Perhaps a very depraved Qunari," the Right Hand said.

They laughed again, and there was a long pause.

"I have a favour to ask of you, my dear Right Hand." the Divine requested.

Marija didn't know how to respond, but the gleam in her eyes was enough for her friend to continue.

"The Divine's of Thedas do not often Rule until they cross Death's curtain by natural causes," she said slowly, "too often, they meet unpleasant fates."

"I understand, Most Holy." Marija acknowledged, still too curious of where the conversation was going to ask anything more. This was practically common knowledge to anyone who bothered to read, but there must be a reason for mentioning it now.

"If such a tragedy befalls me, if you are willing, I would be overjoyed if I could elect you to take my place." The Divine said.

Marija truly did not know how to respond now. The meaning didn't quite meet her ears. Her, once a young girl from lower class Nevarra, be the Divine? She had never seen herself to be on the same level as her friend, even when they met in the library together to read and discuss literature. It was always Eunice who was going to do something with life. She was the one who had the vast inheritance and financial support. It was just luck that Marija was carried along with her for the ride. Being the ruler of the Chantry felt like a dream that could never occur.

"I am honored, Your Perfection," Marija said, fanning herself with her hand, "I do not know what to say."

"I thought you might," her friend said, running wet fingers through her hair, "It is probably difficult for you to imagine."

"Very much so." The woman nodded, not noticing that her hands were shaking, "but if that is what you believe is best, I trust your opinion."

The Divine sighed and traced a pattern in the surface of the water, the steam obscuring her features.

"What do you say as the Right Hand of the Divine?" she wondered.

Marija didn't understand the question.

"I just told you," the woman shot back.

"No, you told me as Marija, the young lady who knew nothing of power." The Divine shot back, her voice echoing, "I ask the Madame Linard who knows what it means to have rank above others."

Marija looked down at her hair and her skin, which was flushed dark from the heat. Did it make much difference whether she had an understanding of power opposed from not? It did not change that she was being asked to uphold more power than she could ever dream, but as the Divine's Right Hand she ceased to think in terms of class. It would be not be much different to now. She would be the same as the Divine, perhaps more anxious as to making the right decision, but she would have her own Right and Left Hand. Marija was just sad that if she was Divine, it would be an acknowledgment of her best friend passing away.

Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes.

"I do not like the thought of you not being there," she said, basically a whisper, "I don't _want_ to imagine it."

The Divine eyed Marija, disheartened. In that fleeting glance there was pages of their history, "I'm sorry for upsetting you, my friend. I will not ask again, but if you make a decision, please let me know."

The woman nodded. The two rested in silence for a few moments. It did not seem they were going to be interrupted. Eventually, the Divine hoisted herself out of her bath, the water splashing off of her like a majestic natural wonder. Marija washed her face with water while the Divine dried herself and changed.

"I will meet you back in the room," Marija advised them, "Please. I'd like privacy."

She suspected she would stay for a few minutes, but that intention turned into hours. When she eventually dried herself and departed, she couldn't enjoy the silence any more than when she'd been in water. Even light headed from the change in blood pressure, the same thoughts drummed in her head repeatedly. S _he_ couldn't be the Divine's successor. She had never held that much power, she had no idea how to wield it, and like being asked to slay an army with a weapon she hadn't learned how to use. True, she had observed Divine Theodosia, but it wasn't the same as practicing herself. Marija loved theory, not acting, thinking, but not writing. Without Eunice would make it all too tempting to go back to her own ways of simple survival.

When she wandered through the manor, she stopped at the bookshelves. Books from Tevinter must be fascinating, just from the different perspective alone. She raised a finger, picked up the first title that sounded interesting and left back to the Chantry. If she put it back tomorrow, there wouldn't be a problem.

She did not expect to find the Black Divine enter the room as she backed away.

"Good evening, Your Holiness," Marija said. Realizing she wouldn't be able to hide what she'd taken, she lifted the leather bound text in the air, "Is this worth the trouble of straining my eyes?"

" _Chronicles of a Forgotten War_?" he read, tilting his head, "It is fascinating if you enjoy history."

"I think I have chosen wisely, if I am permitted to take it?" Marija asked.

"I will not miss it," the man said, waving a hand dismissively, "I thought _Orleasian's_ only read it on order of their professors."

The black-haired woman hesitated. She held back from telling him he was wrong, she wasn't Orleasian, only lived there. He wanted information on her, the beast baring his teeth yet again,

"My own judgement tells me what to read and what to discard."

"I see." The Black Divine stepped forward and peered around, to check no other books were missing, "Are you trying to tell me you are uneducated, Madame Linard?" he asked carefully, "How ever did you rise to be the Right Hand without the guide of a formal institution?"

For whatever reason, Marija did not know why, but she had managed to withhold tears when in company of her dearest friend. Here, probed by a man who represented everything she hated about social classes, made her shake, and further confused by the light headedness she felt looking at him, no longer from the water.

"Tevinter take its education seriously." she forced out, trying to turn the questions onto him.

The Black Divine smiled, "Of course, Madame. There is a reason why Universities are built, so students are given direction on what is the _right_ text to examine."

Marija forced herself to look at her heels so she wouldn't have to endure the irrational surges of wants in her body. Anyone could educate themselves on basics. At least there was education at all, and every book had its own tale to assimilate. At least, that's the way Marija always saw it. Perhaps she was wrong. To her horror, she felt the man place a hand on the top of her head, spiraling lightning into her body from where she stood.

"Madame Linard, I think I saw a tear hit your pointy shoe." He observed, "Have I upset you?"

"I am not crying about _you_ ," she blurted out, unable to contain her anger.

"Is there anything I can do?" the man asked, but Marija didn't believe anything he was saying. This was probably just like the Game in Orlais, and it was better to not trust anyone. "Perhaps you need some time away from the Divine Theodosia?"

What was he suggesting? She sleep on the floor, or maybe lay with him? Not until there was another Blight. From an emotional standpoint, the woman didn't want to admit it, but he could be right. She needed time to process what her superior had said. She didn't want to acknowledge her friend's mortality, or that her future could change. Chances are the Divine probably _would_ die by a terrible fate. The thought of taking over her Legacy was a great honour, but one she didn't feel worthy to do.

"Would you like to read a passage of the Chant?" the Magister suggested, "I have many copies, if you forgot to bring one."

This time, the tears did come in a wave, but silently. The Divine always had a copy of their text, but that wasn't what upset Majira. The Nevarran wasn't sure which passage of text would inspire her to feel joy again. It was something she had only experienced in the brain, not spirit, but it was a shameful fact to admit, even to herself, even if she'd known it the very day she'd sat in on a service. Not wanting to appear disrespectful anymore, the Right Hand raised her eyes to the man's hazel ones. His expression was cold, hard and impossible to read. Yet, her undeniable lure to him was probably what made her defenses crumble. Oddly enough, she wanted to believe he could help her.

"The Chant is useless to me." she said, solemn.

This was a piece of information the Magister would find interesting, and he made little effort to hide it. His iris' widened in captivation and he ran his hand down her hair again, so carefully slow.

"Has my hearing deceived me?" he wondered, "Did the Right Hand of the Divine just say the Chant is _disposable_?"

Not wanting anyone to walk in on her, the woman gave a mere look in response. She would not give him the satisfaction. The Black Divine cupped the side of her face with a hand. Not wanting to resist her feelings anymore, she let her body go limp in his grasp.

"Culver, you are far more enigmatic than the Divine gives you credit for," he mused.

The woman shrugged, both filled with hatred, and unable to muster the logic to step away from him. Why couldn't he be nicer so she could justify her foolish whims?

"Which again raises the question," The Black Divine said, "of what your connection to the Divine is."

"It is a drab story," she repeated, on the surface hoping the man would give up, but secretly begging him to uncover everything about her.

"I don't think it is," The Magister replied, "Let me guess…"

Finally, Marija pushed her hands out in front of her, placing a barrier between the Magister and herself. This was her space, everything else was his. Part of her logic had kicked in, and the Black Divine complied.

"Are you family?" he probed.

The Right Hand met his eyes and did not answer, the heat inside her only rising like lowering herself into that bath. They were practically family, but it was not labelled as such.

The Magister seemed to understand, "Did you meet through a mutual contact?"

Marija lowered her hands, again, refusing to speak. No, Eunice and her met in a library. They had been reading about the same subject and decided to talk about it.

"Hmmm," the Black Divine picked up his staff and began to twirl it with his fingers, "Friends?"

Only the most adored of friendships. A new set of tears reached her eyes.

"Uh huh." The Magister peered at his staff and gently touched the woman's shoes with it, "Companions, then. How close?"

Wouldn't he love to know? Marija tapped the staff away with her shoe.

"Were you lovers?"

Sometimes she had wondered about it, but no. They would never be lovers. The feelings were overwhelming, but the Right Hand stood vigilant.

"No?" he questioned, placing his staff down on the floor, "She must be a special friend, then, the kind that novelists pen, not _ordinary_ people. I wonder what was so special about you, then? Do you have any idea?"

What was important about her? It was unclear. The Right Hand lowered her head to the floor again, but the Black Divine laughed.

"You are so quiet, culver." He remarked, "Although your determination does not appear to be as strong. I am not interested in your story for any cruel reason. I just want to know if you are trustworthy."

"How amusing, Most Holy," Marija answered, finally speaking, "I already _know_ you are _not_ trustworthy, by how you persist with asking me personal questions with no thought to the consequences. Regardless of who I am, it is unpleasant to be treated this way, and –'

She fell silent. Should she mention the fact he had objectified her by touching her hair, by continually approaching her body? That behavior was for brothels, not Tevinter, and she was no whore. In fact, she was the furthest from it. She had spied on lovers in hidden parts of the city, she had listened to the sounds inside brothels, and she had read a number of dirty books, but like with power, with sex she was not always willing to practice. The Magister's face had gone stony again.

"What was the last part, culver?" he wondered, "As an apology, I welcome you to ask me any question, and I will grant you an honest answer."

Marija paused, there were so many awful ways she could phrase what she wanted, insults to curses, but she had to be polite for the sake of getting on Tevinter's good side. Maker knows, she had probably destroyed her reputation already, but perhaps there was a chance to rebuild it.

"Why do you keep placing your hands on me?" she asked, finally, some of her resolve to speak returning. "Why do you do it without asking?"

Her heart pounded in her ears as the words left her mouth, trying to beat her into unconsciousness.

"I am merely trying to be friendly," he said, although Marija thought ' _your definition of friendly is unconventional'_ , "They were only little things. Does it upset you?"

Honestly? To a certain extent, but the urges stirring inside her were so powerful she felt compelled to obey. She had never felt such infatuation before, not like this. There were the young men she had spied on at times, the handsome ones, but nothing compared to the Magister. Before she had met Eunice, before her parents had died and she devoted herself to the Chantry just to have an excuse to spend more time with her friend, the adolescent had touched herself thinking of very little. Now, she was sure, if she felt so inclined and sinful, she would think of him.

"Only slightly," the woman said quietly.

"Which part?" the Magister inquired.

The lack of control annoyed her, the reminders of her previous life infuriated her... all of this displayed in a simple behavior, but she shouldn't say it. The Right Hand should walk away, she ought to dash back to the Chantry quarters back to the Divine's safety, but right now there was too much confrontation of her old self, and too much desire to run from her role. There needed to be acknowledgement of both. The woman wanted to make sense of how she had come to be here, in the same way the Magister did. Was it all some mistake?

"The fact you did it without asking," she said, heat rising to her face again. There was no way she could hide anymore. The Right Hand had admitted to feeling an unHoly fire for this wicked Tevinter mage.

The Black Divine smirked, "Madame Linard…"

His voice rang of derision, amusement. He was laughing at her, he thought her a perverse fool. It may hold some truth. The woman was a voyeur, an enthusiastic learner, but she did not do it to humiliate others. It was curiosity, a desire to snatch what she couldn't have, to remove herself from her own painting of her life. How could she come to terms with herself, so Marija and The Right Hand could be one person, so her experiences could harmonize?

She had sacrificed her very self to be here, stamped out pain of her parents demise from common illness, devoted herself to a cause she didn't believe in, when the one person she admired above all others wanted _her_ to have a taste of that greatness. She was unworthy. It wasn't a deliberate offense, but her rigid morals would not forgive such a thoughtless error.

"It is Marija," she corrected him, "and I'd like to know your name, as well."

"Klaus," the man answered, and suddenly he was more than a title. She wanted to know how Klaus had reached this position as well. Did he feel born into this life, or was he inspired by somebody else? Those would be questions for another time, "Let me get this straight. You _liked_ what I was doing? That is unexpected. I suspect the Divine would have something to say about that." The Magister said, "But, I can see your fear. As _potential allies_ , I will not tell her."

"I will not tell her either," Marija said, amazed at how the Tevinter's walls seemed to be breaking down. Perhaps, like she guessed, his 'friendliness' was a crude indulgence after all, a hint at eagerness for something more. Why would he pick _her_ , if she was so much lower in rank than he was?

"I apologize for not asking permission," the Tevinter said quickly, "I am used to giving orders, not being nice."

 _Obviously,_ Marija thought. _The Black Divine – this one, anyhow - is truly a monster._

"Before you go, are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?" he asked, his face shining with earnest patience, "I wouldn't want my guest having restless sleep."

The woman hesitated. She had already trusted with this man with more secrets than he deserved. Dare she spoil him any more? The Nevarran thought of the choices she made to get here, her dull story that would induce yawns to those in higher ranks. There was no alcohol, no sex, no trickery, just an innocent curiosity for life's wonders, a desperate thirst for knowledge and a desire to escape grief. In the pursuit to hide her despair, it had only grown as the years passed, peaking at this night when the Divine asked her to take her place. She didn't deserve a grand title, but it is what her superior wanted, and she when confronted with dilemmas of her _own_ life, Marija dearly trusted Eunice more than herself. What should she do? Perhaps a powerful mage could assist her in the plight?

"I feel like there is this terrible sadness inside," she began, stepping toward him now, "something I have suppressed for many years, and tonight – I feel _more_ melancholy, but I am unable to express it. I can never show weakness, as part of my position, but it is this very flaw that longs for freedom."

There was a tense silence, one only broken by her long exhales as she forced herself to disguise her panic. If this man did not understand, there was little chance of anybody else understanding. She trusted the Black Divine with her very soul at that moment, and amazingly, it seemed the Magister grasped the gravity of the situation.

"Hmm, that was not an answer I expected from you, Marija." The Black Divine admitted, clenching and unclenching one of his hands, "I have a number of guesses as to what you are suggesting."

The Right Hand stared at the man, "I want to cry until I have no tears left."

There was no other way to say it. Of all the mysteries of the body she had seen and read about, the one that she craved and could accept danced around the edges of her vows. The Chantry dictated she could not give in to passions, and while her body screamed for mercy, she would burn as Andraste did. The only solution was to target her emotions, the damaged sections of her life that were overdue on repairs. There was little in the text about _that_. Despite the Chant not lifting her soul to greater heights, she still felt too loyal to her best friend to dare throw it away so easily.

She remembered a piece of the writing by Threnodies that did not inspire her, but helped her acknowledge the forbidden parts of her being.

 _To you, my second-born, I grant this gift: In your heart shall burn; An unquenchable flame; All-consuming, and never satisfied._

"You're fortunate I specialized in the School of Entropy," the Magister said, "although I wonder what specific spell I ought to use, if you even want me to _use_ my gifts."

"I trust you know best," Marija said, recalling odd rituals described throughout history, novels and myths, "but I want physical pain to a minimum. There must be no lingering evidence of what you have done. Beyond this, you have my blessing until I depart this room."

"Hmm…" the Black Divine picked up his staff, and his face appeared steely again, "I will have to ponder on it, Marija. Leave it for another time. However, I did have one idea."

"What is that, Most Holy?" the woman asked, feeling both uncomfortable and complacent at the same time.

The Black Divine approached her and and traced his fingers over her gown, sneaking ever lower.

"You are a shame to the Chantry, to the Divine Herself. You killed her in a fit of rage, jealous of her, and you will face trial. The Court is against you. You are ugly, ordinary and uneducated, a piece of scum. Worse than a slave, worse than dirt. You do not like looking at me because you know it," his fingers curled to her sex, over her clothes, but mesmerizing all the same, "and finally, you are filthy, a liar, and are fraud. You did not deserve to be the Right Hand of the Divine. You never did, and I hereby revoke your position, leaving you to struggle, begging at your superior's grave, pleading for forgiveness."

It was enough – there was just the right amount of fantasy mixed in with what she deserved punishment for. The words hit all her weak points, one after the other. In a cathartic wave, Marija burst into tears, not out of indignation, but overwhelmed with her own feelings of guilt and dread for everything she didn't want to be. This was her very worst fear, but having it shoved in front of her forced her to face it. The tears, the grief, it was the good sort of crying, the one that lifted your spirits after bottling up a terrible secret for so long. Even though she had conveyed little to the Magister as to her life, the woman felt it was purged through her desolation.

The Magister merely kept his hand in that one sinful place, taunting her, as the emotion came flooding from her in an uncontrollable mess. Never before had she shaken so much, or felt so much all at once, but it cleansed her of sorrow, of all wrong decisions she had made. In luring her heartache to the surface, it brought forth a new feeling of strength. It was only when the last of the salt was wiped from her face, and she could breathe freely again, when Marija gave her gratitude.

"Th-Thank you, Your Reverence." She said, taking his hand and kissing it. Her brain was so elated and muddled from the experience that she felt nothing but peace as her lips left his skin.

The Magister removed his hand carefully, slowly, like lifting it from a body about to be cremated. The gleam in his eyes was kind, even his posture had loosened. If it was a shock to watch her, there was no sign that was the case.

"Sleep well, Right Hand of the Divine." Divine Zuriel said, not moving as she walked past.

She left the manor, not knowing then what their relationship would become, but not thinking of it in that moment. The sleep was wonderful. Somehow, the permitted array of degradation made her feel rested, but the same could not be said for every other night in Tevinter.


End file.
